


Brotherhood on the Battlefield

by AColl98



Category: Original Work
Genre: Airforce, Alpha - Freeform, Army, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Character Death, Death, Fall of America, Gen, Infantry, Inspired by Death Cure, Inspired by Divergent, Inspired by Enders Game, Inspired by Maze Runner, Inspired by Real Events, Inspired by Scorch Trials, Inspired by The Hunger Games, Iraq, Middle East, Military, Military Academy, Military Science Fiction, Military Training, Military fiction, Multi, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Post-USA, Post-War, ROTC, Survival, Survival Training, Teens, War, Wartime, beta, delta - Freeform, post-america
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AColl98/pseuds/AColl98
Summary: The United States of America have crumbled and collapsed. Out of the chaos of the aftermath, grew a group of seven new nations. Fifty years post-American fall, these nations are still deeply entrenched in war. In the The People's Great Lakes of North America (one of the seven new nations), the government has resorted to a lottery system of military recruitment to protect their borders. From such recruitments, rises our protagonist and their loyal band of troublemakers, eventually to become known as Delta Squadron. In a world that is so unforgiving, will the misfits of Delta Squadron survive?
Relationships: Narrator/Original Character(s), Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Reader/Other(s), Soldiers - Relationship, Teammates - Relationship, commander/soldier, military - Relationship
Kudos: 1





	1. The Royally F***ed Up Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I am posting yet another original story (check out my profile for more)! This fanfiction is heavily inspired by Hunger Games, Divergent, and Enders Game. It is also heavy in military themes and events. If you are uncomfortable with such themes, this is not the story for you. I have plenty of others so feel free to take a look!

I will probably never be able to tell you why they chose my story of all the stories out there to send back in time, especially considering how much grief I've put them through. I've never been good at following orders though, so they kind of asked for it when they threw me into the military. There is one reason I can think of that would cause them to want to use my story. I've heard how you all enjoy romance stories or stories about the undermining of governments by a single individual; i.e. uprisings against oppressive governments. Well, I'm sorry to inform you, this is not that kind of story. This is the story of hope, perseverance, loyalty, bravery, nobility, brotherhood, and above all survival. I suppose you could call it a typical underdog story. Anyways.... here goes nothing.

* * *

It was a bright autumn day when it all started. Back then I was young and innocent. I had so much potential and the world was full of possibilities. I had heard of kids being pulled out of their lives to go fight for the government at about my age, but I had never seen it and quite frankly, I always have been a little too cocky for my own good. I just assumed it would never be me.  
I was wrong.  
Naturally they caught me just when I was about to doze off in the middle of history class. We had been learning about the creation of our society as we know it today from the collapse of your United States of America. It's not like the teachers hadn't taught this to us a million times before, so naturally we all knew it by heart. It was as sudden as the changing of the wind on a blustery day. One minute everything was quiet and calm, almost sleepy; the next, desks were being overturned, people were screaming, and kids were being yanked from their seats.  
It took the soldiers all of two minutes, at most, to herd us all out of the classroom into the back of the trucks. We were shoved, in large groups, into the back of jeep trucks and the back was slammed shut. A few tried to escape and those that didn't get far were beaten severely before being thrown back in with the rest of us. Most of them ended up with bruises that lasted for two weeks. There were two boys that somehow managed to dodge all the soldiers. Rather than track them down, the soldiers shot them. The pair of bodies crumpled a second after the crack of the sniper rifle. As expected many girls screamed and cried harder. Some of the boys were crying as well. I was one of few that didn't shed a tear. Instead I was numb; empty of all thought and emotion.  
I could not comprehend what was happening. _I_ was not supposed to be here. This was not going to happen to _me_. I had been so sure. As I was tossed around in the back with my classmates, it dawned on me. This _was_ happening to me. _I_ am supposed to be here. My class had been called. We now had to serve our country. It would be our greatest honor. I smirked with annoyance at the thought. That is what we had always been told, but really, we were just needed to make sure we weren't invaded. We were worthless drones to the government, who used us--young, innocence, and still in our prime--as their human shield from the world.


	2. Welcome to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first week in the military dictates whether you live or receive the death sentence, all while they do their best to run you ragged.

A sharp voice shocked me from my thoughts. "Get over here, you useless idiots!" Turning I spotted a man, appearing to be about forty, standing not too far from where my classmates and I milled about taking in our surroundings after piling out of the jeeps, unmistakably resembling a herd of lost sheep. My classmates rushed towards him, as for myself though, I allowed myself a nice cocky saunter. I had no choice in being there, and in case you haven't noticed, I didn't like it.  
"Get into a single file line," he ordered, rolling his eyes. Under his breath I heard him say, "I swear they always act like Kindergarteners." I was about to thank him, when I felt someone grab me by the back of the neck and drag me towards the line my classmates were forming.  
"You would do well to heed your superiors," a voice growled in my ear. "Moving quickly is also encouraged... that is if you don't want to face the firing squad for insubordination." With a fierce shake, I broke out of his grip and turned on my assaulter.  
"You need me too much. Fresh meat only comes around occasionally. I doubt the government would pass up the chance," I said, gesturing to myself.  
"They'll pass up the chance if you don't listen to them. Perhaps you've forgotten what happened to two boys in your grade? The government already passed up the chance on them. Now get in line before you find yourself joining them in the body pile," he said shoving me into line.  
Before I could say anything more, we were on the move. There was a stifling silence being emitted from my classmates and while I was itching like crazy to break it, some scrap of higher intelligence and better judgment, maybe even a sense of self-preservation, told me very firmly not too. Apparently I had caused enough trouble for the time being and in all honesty, I really do enjoy living.   
When we reached the building we were headed for, the last building to the right which apparently turned out to be a barrack, we were given room assignments and allotted ten minutes to find our dorm rooms, change into military attire, apparently already ready for us in our own individual size and regroup out in front of the building. In other words, we were meant to sprint the entire thing as our rooms were located on the fourth floor, naturally.  
Somehow, the majority of us were successful. The few that were not earned themselves distasteful looks and marks on a clipboard. We were then marched, single file, to the back of the main building and given five minutes for dinner before going next door and given a series of excruciatingly long paper tests. That was an adventure in itself. Let me remind you; I live in the future. Most everything we do is computerized so this whole paper and pencil thing is a little new to us. It's not like we don't know how to use them. We just never use them because we always have access technology. For example, our desks at school have computer screens projected on them from underneath. Our teacher's lessons and our assignments appear under our fingertips. Actually, the better way to describe it is by using a popular character in your society. Ever heard of Tony Stark? Everyone has access to technology like his, it's really easily made and fixed. The better technology usually used by the wealthy can actually read your mind and create what you’re thinking of. Cool, right?  
Regardless, the whole pencil and paper thing kind of threw us all off. It's like I said earlier. They've done a great job making the military seem like jail. I'm pretty sure the only difference is that the jails actually have technology made within the last 20 years. After our test-taking session it was promptly to bed. The next morning came earlier than any of us expected. Our rude awakening was brought by none other than the young Second Lieutenant that I had clashed with yesterday. Before any of us were really awake, we found ourselves faced with more tests; the paper and pencil kind. Our only breaks were for meals. At about two o'clock we were finally released from tests, only to find that now we faced physical tests ranging from swimming ability to scaling walls and more. By the time we were sent to bed we were thoroughly bruised, slightly broken, and extremely wiped out by exhaustion. Unfortunately for us, we had yet to complete all of the physical tests and the next morning started just as early, but definitely less mercifully. Instead of doing paperwork we were slammed into high gear going obstacle courses right after breakfast.  
The rest of the week was a huge variety of tests of physical, mental, and emotional strength. I don't remember much of it due to the constant haze of exhaustion I worked through alongside my classmates. However, somehow I still had the energy to cause problems from my commanding officers. I don't remember what I did, but I was apparently very successful. Successful enough to tip the scales of my evaluation apparently.


	3. The Death Sentence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-hell week, everyone is assigned new units. But where do they put the troublemakers and what becomes of them?

One torturously long week after arriving at base, we were finally assigned to divisions.   
Just for a bit of background, I'll tell you about them really quickly. Alpha's are considered 'the most elite' apparently. In reality though they are not much of soldiers, they just have really good strategic brains which are put to use in finding ways to protect our beloved country of The People's Great Lakes of North America, or Great Lakes, or even more simply GL. In other words, they are the ones who command the army and devise ways to get the rest of us killed. Beta's are the 'second best'. They are the most athletic soldiers on the compound. You might compare them to an American football team; not that we play that anymore. Eventually people started realizing that it wasn't worth the brain damage. The point is they're big and burly and a little on the scary side. Gamma is third in the pecking order and the exact opposite of the Betas. I like to call them the Bruce Banners of the military. Yes, I did just make a pop-culture reference from your era. You're welcome. These were the kids that were allowed to suck on their parents' old data chips. Thus transferring the data directly into their heads and giving them a detailed understanding of how every bit of technology works; because they're all linked together now-a-days. Then there's the Deltas. Rumor has it that they were set up to be the undercover operatives who could get in and out of enemy territory with no problem and without being sensed. Now-a-days Delta is just the place that they put the troublemakers. They no longer get the training they used to, but are still expected to go on equally difficult missions. In other words, the missions that were once moderately difficult for the super-spies are now suicide missions for us. It's a great way to get rid of all the troublemakers. I would and could go on and on about this stuff, but that's really all you need to know for now. The reason for using the Greek alphabet instead of military code is simple. The Lesser Mountains of Northern America, the country consisting of what you know of as the Appalachian Mountains and New England, chose it before we did. It helps that the squadrons are a bit like Frat or Sorority houses too; only a heck of a lot bigger.  
Anyways... Considering how much trouble I gave my commanding officers and my whole attitude in general, I bet you can guess which one I was assigned to.   
Delta.  
When I heard this, I felt a sharp pang of horror rush through me, quickly followed by a rush of anger, only to be flipped around once more to my usual state of defiance. I was determined to live. The military may have assigned me to my death, but there is no way I was going out without one hell of a fight. Unlike the rest of the army, my battle wasn't with our surrounding countries. My battle was with our military itself.  
Like any semi-dutiful soldier, I reported to my new barracks, Delta Hall, later that evening. For once, I made sure I was on time, exactly on time. Somehow I managed to keep my head down that first night despite my raging emotions, which were constantly flipping themselves around, leaving me with nothing to do but hang on for dear life in hopes of saving even a sliver of my sanity.  
Despite being practically reserved for the troublemakers on compound, there were still quite a few of us. More than I was expecting anyway. Delta was not as big as say Gamma or Theta which is the medical division, but not as small as others like Alpha. Despite our decent size though, we apparently seem to be taken for granted quite a bit and earn very little recognition. I suppose that comes when everyone's always trying to kill you and they are very good at succeeding. I was to sleep in a room with seven other roommates. There was plenty of room for us all to live comfortably, but it helped that we spent very little time in the room anyway. None of us shared a squadron. That was nice; in it's own twisted way. It allowed us not to get too close to each other and kept us from forming an utterly-instinct-motivated clique. The only actual time we spent together was in the mornings and in the evenings. Otherwise, we were with our squadrons.  


My assigned squadron was Delta 123 or just D23. Our commanding officer was a very typical-American-looking 20-ish year old Sergeant Davenforth Krawl. When not on duty, he preferred us to call him Daven. In turn he would treat us like actual human beings instead of robots or worthless nobodies like everyone else did. After about a week and a half we started to get more comfortable with each other and while Sergeant Krawl kept us strictly professional, for the most part, one of my squadmates tried a joke.  
"Sir-"  
"For the millionth time, Cadet! You are to address me as Sergeant, not Sir!"  
"But I have only counted ten times I've done that.... Plus one."  
"Plus one?"  
"Yes Sir."  
I said tried, didn't I? As you can see my squad mates aren't all the brightest of the bunch. Then again, we can't all be the brightest in the bunch because, well, no one would be then. Sorry if I've seemed to lose you there but the logic is really quite simple. You see if we're all incredibly intelligent... oh nevermind. What my squad mate didn't know is the real joke would be coming later. 

It happened just before dinner. It had been raining for the past few days and the ground had yet to soak it all up, leaving a deep sticky mud upon the ground. Sergeant Krawl was having us practice sharp turns for the parade we were scheduled to have in a few weeks time. Even though Delta may be scorned inside the military, we do our best to keep up with and even outshine the other divisions when it comes to public shows. They are the ones who truly love and appreciate us. We are the ones who get put out on the front line and risk our lives clearing the way for everyone else. If we're going to die, we may as well go out with a bang. That was the whole attitude at Delta and I was starting to love it.  
I'm getting side-tracked through; back to my original narrative. His name was Cadet Locklear and clearly of Native American descent. It could have happened to anyone really, but naturally it had to happen to Cadet Locklear. We had gotten ourselves relatively close to the edge of the asphalt and had just completed our final about-face when Locklear lost his footing and plummeted into the mud. When he landed he sprayed us with a bit of muds, but managed to keep the majority of it for himself. At first we were all stunned, but soon we were struggling to hide our smiles as we had not been dismissed from formal training yet.  
Moving swiftly, Sergeant Krawl made his way towards Cadet Locklear, carefully avoiding the mud and staying on the asphalt. Unfortunately for Sergeant Krawl, he wasn't the only one near Cadet Locklear, who apparently thought it would be a great idea to attempt to get Sergeant Krawl, again. Only this time would be much better than the first. It was at the same moment that Sergeant Krawl reached him when Cadet Locklear reach out the other side of the mud pit and grabbed the nearest officer, thinking he was Sergeant Krawl. Before the officer knew what was happening, Cadet Locklear hauled him into the mud pit with him. The officer turned out to be the grouchy Second Lieutenant from my first week at the compound. He was screeching about all kinds of rules Cadet Locklear had broken and his disrespect for commanding officers. When Sergeant Krawl offered him a hand out, the Second Lieutenant blatantly grabbed his hand and pulled him in as well; yelling about how he should be joining his cadet to wallow in their uselessness and that Sergeant Krawl was worse the mud they were trapped in at the moment because his squadron lacked any discipline what-so-ever. Naturally at this point there was not much containing our laughter and it escaped from all of us; only adding fuel to the Second Lieutenant's fire. We didn't care one bit though. Watching our commanding officers struggle against the mud was by far one of the best forms of entertainment we had had since we arrived.  
Eventually the Second Lieutenant found his way out of the mud and stomped off. As soon as he was out of sight Sergeant Krawl jumped out of the mud with ease, leaving us all utterly aghast. Just as easily he helped Cadet Locklear out of the mud as well. Seeing out shocked faces he simply smiles and says, "What? You really think a little bit of mud is going to stop me, a Delta? If that ever happened in the field, I'd be long dead. Perhaps we should work on your mud work. You may have had a good idea Locklear, but it would do you better to pull him in and then get out as quickly as you can." With that we were dismissed and Sergeant Krawl sent Cadet Locklear promptly to the showers, knowing full well that he would have to make excuses and apologies for him later for both the incident with the Second Lieutenant from the Alpha Division and for being late to dinner. 

Our squadron continued to bond and soon enough the twelve of us were semi-inseparable. We had many jokes that we shared with each other and Krawl. On the outside we still appeared as professional as before but we were no longer simply strangers in a squadron together. We had all begun to know each other, little-by-little.  
I had come to learn all of my squad mates names by the week after the incident. Other than myself, Cadet Locklear, whose actual name turned out to be Jolon, and Sergeant Krawl, there were ten other squad members of D23. Cadet Farris Mackie was a red-head of Scottish and Irish decent who's fast and rambling tongue tended to get him in trouble quite often with those officers who couldn't abide a bit of chatter. Cadet Zhang Yong, of both Chinese and Japanese decent, was by far the smartest in our group. He probably should have been in Alpha, but my guess is that his habit of constantly correcting people when they're wrong landed him in Delta. Cadet Lucan Ricci, Italian and Greek, was fantastic in the kitchen! His love for food was overwhelming and he always seemed to smell of food. His talents elsewhere though seemed to be rather lacking. Cadet Tyron Frazier was quiet, but his athletic bulk and strength was definitely one to be reckoned with. I believe the only reason my large African friend was not selected for Beta was his kind heart. He could never hurt unless there was prompting from the other side. Many of us ended up looking up to him, much as a younger sibling would look up to an older brother for protection and guidance. Cadet Hoku Kimm, a Pacific Islander, was a pro with nature. His ability to 'become one' as he phrased it, with the natural world around us, always astounded us, especially in our world of technology overload. Which brings us to the next cadet, Demain Kozlov, descendant of the Slovic peoples. His gift was purely technology. He even bested some Gamma's in technological skill, but he was always fiddling with one thing or another and had a certain difficulty staying on task without constant supervision. Thus resulting in his placement in Delta. The cadet whose ancestors came from the Arab region is Cadet Malik Valdez. His talent is his ability to talk himself out of any situation. I had only seen it twice the whole time I knew him, but it was fantastically terrific how easily he would charm them into whatever he wanted. Hailing from South America, Cadet Rafael Castro was pure speed and finesse embodied in a 5'8'' perfectly proportioned frame. Descendant from India, Cadet Aditya Patil, was known for his extreme senses. His eyesight was a lot better than a twenty-twenty. He could hear even the quietest whisper from outside a room. His nose never failed to tell us what was for the next meal, even if we were on the other side of the compound from the cafeteria. Finally his fingers and toes could tell us when someone was coming towards us and at what pace. His only handicap was his shoes since the rubber soles took away all ground vibrations. Last but most certainly not least was Cadet Alejandro Torres of Central America. His talent was one that took us a long time to discover, but when we did he became our main source of entertainment. He could tell any story you wanted and no one could tell it quite like him. Many of us tried. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism welcome! And before you say it: yes, I know I made a very diverse squadron. That was intentional. No, I did not mean to lean into any stereotypes, and if I offended anyone in accidentally doing so, I apologize. And yes, technically they are all still American (though in this world they would identify themselves at people of "GL"); they just have different heritages. They are not all from each individual country.
> 
> PS.  
> I know I introduced all of those characters super fast. I would keep this chapter in mind for the future, however. You may want to come back to reference!


	4. Seeing Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks of training, Delta squadron 123 are finally being sent out on a mission. According to Alpha, this is only a routine border patrol and should be relatively safe and easy; but is anything really that simple?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! Thanks for sticking with me. Hopefully you are enjoying the story so far; I have been. Please feel free to leave any comments or questions (kudos are appreciated too ;D). I hope you guys are ready for things to get a bit rough...

After about a month, we received our first assignment; border check. Most of our cities lay well within our borders, leaving our borders rather technology-free and almost waste-land-ish. In truth that is also where we dump most of our waste anyway.  
Such missions were considered the easiest of the missions we Deltas are supposed to complete. We were not permitted to cross the border only from a few hundred yards away and make sure our enemy countries weren't encroaching on our land.  
It was these missions that weren't supposed to risk lives and we were given armed trucks which were really more like tanks at the pace they moved. We weren't too thrilled about our mode of transportation, but decided it had to be better than just walking it. At least you had some protection because, like I said, these missions weren't supposed to risk any lives but on a very rare occasion one of our tank-trucks would get hit by a bogey missile. A few of us were nervous of this, but Sergeant Krawl assured us that Beta Division had made sure no missiles were likely to be set off. He even put in a special request for those of us that were more skittish than others. None of us ever knew if it actually went through or not though.  
Our squadron was to be accompanied by Delta 134. It was their first mission as well, but they seemed more nervous for it than we did. They also seemed to fear their commanding officer, unlike us who loved and respected Sergeant Krawl. When we met in the morning, there was a certain unmistakable tension between Sergeant Krawl and D34's commanding officer. All of the cadets shifted uncomfortably as tension passed all around us, originating from the two sergeants. There were no jokes that morning from any of Locklear and even Mackie was silent. That last bit in itself was a miracle.  
We piled into the tank-trucks when they arrived at our meeting spot just in front of the gates in the back of the compound. They were made of some kind of extremely strong metal alloy and reached all the way to the top of the way. The only way to open them was from the guard tower at the other end of the facility and the code was so complex that only two people had the whole thing memorized.  
The tank-trucks could hold nine members; one driver, two side gunmen, two top gun men (one facing the front, one facing the back), one back gunman, one man monitoring outside activity, one man monitoring the ground for any bombs, and the final man's job was to keep everyone awake and alert. He was the commanding officer on deck, even if he wasn't any higher of a rank than the rest of his men. This meant that each squadron would get a tank-truck with eight of their soldiers in it and the third tank-truck would hold a combination of both; four soldiers from D23 and five from D34. Sergeant Krawl selected Ricci, Frazier, Yong, and Valdez.  
It didn't take long for us to get on the road. I was in the front truck with Sergeant Krawl, Locklear, Mackie, Kimm, Kozlov, Castro, Patil, and Torres. The sergeant of D34 was in the last tank-truck. The second we were away from D34, we seemed to resume our typical way of moving through daily life. A certain amount of nervousness had yet to leave us yet, and Sergeant Krawl remained semi-uncharacteristically quiet.  


Out on the border everything was quiet and clear. It was a hot day that day and combined with the boring terrain about us and lack of activity, Sergeant Krawl had his work cut out for him keeping us all focused on the task at hand. Eventually he gave up, sort of. As long as we could double task he became okay with Mackie's incessant talking. You have to understand he had been trying to hold it together all morning. I was surprised he hadn't exploded yet with the need to talk. On occasion Locklear would throughout a joke, to give us all relief from Mackie's deafening drone. At one point Mackie changed his topic to death. That was a fun one.  
Eventually Locklear got sick of it and said, "You know, I could just kill you right now. From all this talking about death it sounds like you might want to try it. I wonder if you would be like Jesus and just come back in three days. You wanna try it?"  
"Shut up Locklear," grumbled Kozlov. He was irritated by the lack of technology surrounding him and how old all of the technology was that was around him.  
"No, Mackie, I'm being completely serious," Locklear said. Turning toward him from my position in the back I saw Locklear level a pistol at the back of Mackie's head from his place opposite Mackie as a side gunner.  
"Locklear what the hell are you thinking?" I yell and just as everyone turns towards him from their position, he pulls the trigger.  
"Locklear!" We cry out, all reaching towards Mackie who seems stunned with a startled 'oh' frozen on his face. However he doesn't slump over dead and we stare at him for a second before turning to Locklear.  
"What? You honestly think I would shoot him. Look the gun's empty," Locklear says holding the pistol's clip out to us.  
I stare at him with fury as Sergeant Krawl snatches the gun away from him. "Asshole," I whisper to myself before turning back to my window, rage boiling in my veins.  
"You should have seen your faces!" Locklear exclaims laughing. "You all thought I had honestly shot him!" Behind me I heard a loud thump and guessed Sergeant Krawl had hit Locklear with the butt of the pistol.  
"Don't be such an idiot, Locklear," he growls. "Do anything like that again and I won't be saving your ass from anymore trouble you get yourself into whether you meant to or not."  
Everyone was silent for a minute. When Mackie went to start talking again he was cut off by Kimm. "Would it kill you to shut up once in a while, Mackie? You almost got yourself killed just now because of it." Mackie immediately shut his open mouth and pretended to be fully engaged by the view out his window.  
From the bench to my left I heard Sergeant Krawl sigh. "Torres, let's hear one of your stories."  
Torres was silent for a moment before he began. "She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Her hair blew in the wind and her eyes were narrowed by the sun's glint off the water before her..."  
Torres went on to tell the tale of a girl he knew as a child whose tragic story was about his passion for her, but ultimately she ended up drowning before he ever got to introduce herself. When he finished his story, I could hear the occasional sniff and had no doubt that a few had shed tears or were very close. We were all silent for a moment of two, reflecting on his story. The silence was broken when Patil quietly whispered. "Something's coming and fast."  
Not a second later our world was rocked upside-down; literally.

  
"Is everyone ok?" called Sergeant Krawl through the ringing in my ears. His voice sounded hoarse. All around me voices called out that were just as hoarse. A ting of fear or anger shone through every-once-and-a-while. "That's only seven I counted. Who didn't respond?"  
"My leg is stuck," I moaned helplessly. Without a second's delay, he was crammed into the back gunner's compartment with me, pulling the heavy, attached gun off my leg. Someone else reached in and scooped me out by my armpits while Sergeant Krawl held the gun off me.  
"You alright?" he asked, squirming out of the gunner's compartment. I nod.  
"What happened out there?" asked Castro.  
"I'm not sure," Sergeant Krawl answered calmly, still inspecting my leg.  
"It wasn't a land mine. I would have seen it. I never took my eyes off the screen," Castro insisted with a hint of hysteria rising in this voice.  
"I never said you did, Castro," Sergeant Krawl assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder.  
"That can only mean one thing," Kimm evaluated, voicing all of our thoughts. "It was an aerial attack. It also means that they probably hit the other trucks as well."  
Sergeant Krawl nods, "We should go check on them.” Without a second thought, my squad mates busted their way out of the tank-truck and into the open.  


To our devastation we found a horrific picture in front of us. Both of the other tank-trucks had been hit directly by the missile and were absolutely blown apart. Fires raged all over the place and there was a black cloud of smoke. A central deep hole was centered between where the two tank-trucks should have been in relation to us. We saw chunks of body all over the place, littering the ground the way trash liters a park the day after a concert.  
Panic filled my squad mates and they rushed forward, desperately searching for any sign of life. Limping behind them I followed as quickly as I could until I remembered something. I had heard a story a week or two ago from a cadet who had been on a similar mission and half of his squadron had been taken out by the blast. Another fourth was taken by exposure-to-radiation-sickness. He was one of four to survive and made up the last of the Delta 116 squadron.  
"Stop!" I screamed at my squad mates. "Stop! You'll die if you get too close! There's too much radiation! Stop!"  
When my voice of reason finally broke through, Sergeant Krawl skidded to a stop and turned to me looking confused and questioning. "It's true!" I shouted to him, "I've seen it; Delta 116."  
I saw a snap of understanding wash over his face and he grabbed the nearest cadet and spun him around. "Back to the truck!" He bellowed, as he reached out and grabbed another cadet shoving him towards me and the tank-truck.  
"But-" one of them protested.  
"They're dead! Just leave them and get back to the truck!" Sergeant Krawl said forcefully as he grabbed the stumbling cadet by the arm and started running back towards me, bringing up the rear of the group. In the meantime I had hobbled back to the tank-truck and stood by the door ready to heave it open as soon as my squad mates reached me. It took a lot more strength than I thought it would but I still managed to open by the time the first one reached me and he shot straight into the truck. They flooded in quickly after him and when Sergeant Krawl reached me he shoved the cadet in ahead of him before taking the door from me and ushering me in.  
As soon as we were inside he sealed the door shut as tight as he could before moving around to the window and pressing buttons which I assumed sealed them shut even tighter than they already were. When he finished he turned to find us all seated on the ceiling of the truck which is now the floor, looking at him expectantly.  
"Now what?" asked Kimm.  
"Now, we wait and watch," he said pointing to the computer screen which was covered in red, indicating the large amount of radiation outside the truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! In case you haven't noticed, we are now into the thick of things. I would apologize, but the intent of this story was not necessarily to provide warm fuzzies. Either way, buckle up because the the rollercoaster is just beginning!


	5. All the Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-explosion, the delta squad has to make it back to base. And deal with the repercussions, whatever those might be.

Five days. We waited five whole days in that tank-truck. We spared what little food we had and drank minuscule amounts of water out of our canteens. There was only so much room to move about in, and most was incredibly uncomfortable for when it came time to sleep. Nine of us; jammed in one tank-truck for five days. If that wasn't survival, close bond-man-ship, or lack of privacy, I don't know what is.   
At first we tried to pretend none of it had happened, that we were just hanging out together in some old ruined tank-truck we found. The jokes were the same, the mood was oppressively light for the circumstances and chatter was constant. As the days wore on, reality would hit us more and more and we could no longer deny it the way we had been. Our food and water supply shrank quickly and all became either grumpy or withdrawn. Some would alternate back and forth. Twice Sergeant Krawl had to pull people off of each other to keep them from clawing each other's eyes out in frustration.  
He was the only one among us whose mood never faltered. There was an undeniable sense of calm which radiated from him, but also a sense of melancholy, loss and failure. I didn't have to ask to understand where that came from. Even in a month, he had become fiercely loyal to us. He would willingly stand up to anyone if they put us down, bullied us, or misused us in any way. He was our guardian and our leader. He blamed himself for the deaths of our fellow squad members.  
Despite our casual antics, we could still feel their loss as well. We dealt with it in a different way by trying to ignore it. There was no way around it though. There was always a pause when someone made a mistake. Such a pause used to be filled in by Yong, as he would explain the problem and how to fix it. Our noses craved for Ricci's scent of the kitchen and growled for his food, which he always seemed to pull out of nowhere. Valdez's talent for talking anyone out of anything was especially missed as the days wore on and tempers rose to their tipping points. Even quiet Frazier was missed. His size, maybe not so much, but his forgiving heart could have taught any of us patience.  
Finally the day arrived when the screen was no longer covered in red. That is not to say that the radiation from the bomb was no longer present, but it was less than it had been. It was that day that Krawl decided to change it. He knew that we could only survive so much longer and quite frankly there were numerous fights that would only climax and become worse if we stayed.  


Slowly he opened the door to the tank-truck and ushered us all outside, giving us the exact direction we were to head in the moment we stepped through the doorway. He figured the less time we spent dawdling in the most contaminated area the better chance we'd have. Most of us took off at a sprint, due to my injury though I elected to exit last so as not to slow anyone down. I could not sprint away like my companions and was instead forced to hobble away as quickly as I could which turned out to be about the pace of Krawl's brisk jog. He was the sole member of our squadron that stayed with me, but I knew he would have done it for anyone. He would get the rest of his squadron out if it killed him and at that moment I was the last of what was left of his squadron.  
We caught up with the rest of the squadron at dusk. They had found a small creek and had set up camp. It did little to help, but Krawl had us all bath in the creek, in hopes of washing away some of the radiation we had interacted with. I still believe to this day that it was also to help wash it away from his mind.  
After we had all bathed we built up a fire and warmed ourselves before setting up a watch schedule and drifting off into dreamless sleep without so much as a grain of bread to eat.  
The next morning came early and at the sharp punch of pain, dealt by a grumpy redhead. We left the camp in under half an hour and this time jogged away this time. It would have been a walk, but due to Krawl's incessant urging, we were quickly convinced to jog. We rarely took any breaks, but when we did Krawl kept us at a brisk walk. We managed to reach an abandoned military post by nightfall which Patil estimated to be about five miles from the wall that protects GL from the rest of the world.  


We repeated once more our schedule from the night before, but Krawl let us sleep in the following morning. We had made fantastic distance in a manner of two days and it was a miracle that we weren't all utterly unable to move due to malnutrition and exhaustion from both heat and a physical activity that none of us had been ready for. We had held up remarkably and anyone could have seen Krawl's pride shining in his eyes though he hide it from us in the rest of his manner.  
My leg on the other hand was another matter entirely. It had felt worse even the day after our initial escape and I should have known better than pushing myself at the pace I did, but I was in no hurry to die and I wasn't going to be the cause of my squadron's death because I slowed them down. So I had kept my mouth shut against the pain. That morning I found that I could no longer stand though, and my thigh was swollen to twice the size of my normal thigh. As you can imagine, none of my squadmates were too happy about this fact and Krawl began cursing like a sailor. I'll do you the favor in not repeating what he said. What it boiled down to is I got yelled at for not mentioning the pain in my leg or that it was broken, which in my defense I wasn't entirely sure of that, and we ended up binding it and every one in the squad would take turns carrying me, which I can assure you, was not looked upon well by any of us. It was already hot, with another person leaning on you, that would make the day blistering. It also meant we would have to trudge our way back five miles, rather than go at any quicker of a pace.   


And so it was that our grand survival and retreat story was cut off all thanks to the wonders of an attached gun in a tank-truck. We arrived at dusk, just as another border patrol came rolling in. One of the squadrons was Delta 118 and their sergeant was friends with Krawl. Apparently they were squad mates until their squadron got all but blown up. The two were then assigned to the new squadrons and later on became sergeants of their own squadrons. My squad mates prefer another version.  
In this version the two saved each other from the explosion because she was busy confessing her undying love for him but the whole time he was trying to get away and rejoin the squad as she clung to him. They were then rescued by the next squadron that came through who found them naked and clinging to each other in a romantic hut, clearly about to get physical. They were escorted back to camp and ordered never to see each other again before being placed in separate squadrons. They also decided to explain why she became a sergeant first. They're explanation; she resolved to be a good soldier and had given her whole heart to Krawl. There was no else she would take. Krawl on the other hand had become very sexually active and it took him longer because he kept getting found out.  
There are only a few truths to that tale, but I'll let you believe what you wish. 


	6. To the Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A successful return to camp means exaggerated regalements of heroic deeds that may or may not happened as well as new quarters and closer bonds.

Thanks to the advanced medicine, my leg healed in a week and I was good as new. I bet you wish you could have our kind of medicine in your age, don't you. One day, you'll get there. I promise. It will be so worth it.   
Anyway as soon as I was released from the medical ward, I went in search of my squadron companions. I was probably moving faster than the doctors wanted me moving, but it was night and almost curfew. I had to find my squadron and get the update.  
Lucky for me I ran into the sergeant of D18, she knew exactly where they were. As it turns out the rascals had been awarded a new room due to their 'courage and finess under pressure' by the leaders of Delta. As if we didn't spend enough time together, D23 was given an officer's deck barrack. Typically such rooms were assigned to commanding officers of the division and the officers below him who advised him. Naturally as Delta was under funded and lacking in quite a few things, they had a few officer's deck barracks to spare.  
The rooms have four bunk beds and each has its own closet and computer system allowing the aid officers the ability to access any technological gadget they wanted. We still had to share a bathroom, but this time it was just with each other, rather than the entire floor. Mind you this isn't a normal house bathroom, this is your communal bathroom with showers; just so you're aware. In the back of the room was a separate room with a double bed and bathroom for Krawl. His computer system was far more extensive and gave him access to literally anything he wanted, but the commanding officers did take that away. Knowing our squadron that was probably best. If even one of us got our hands on the wrong information that could be disastrous for Delta.   
The sergeant of D18 was kind enough to escort me there. Even though I was fully healed everyone in the compound had heard our story, and mine. D23 was recognized by others now, though not much else. In Delta however, We were honored as kings. Knowing my story though, I found myself at the mercy of all the hands in Delta. They were constantly watching me, making sure I didn't injure myself again because ultimately I was the reason the rest of D23 survived and didn't get radiation sickness. The entire squadron was checked out the moment we arrived back at the compound; just before I was knocked out for treatment for my leg. 

When I arrived with my escort of now three sergeants, I found my squad mates playing poker. They greeted me with smiles, forms of cat-calls or inquisitive looks. With a respectful nod to my escorts conveying my gratitude, I joined them.   
"So, how's the leg?" asked Mackie the moment I sat down beside him.   
"Good as new. Now I'll be able to outrun you wussies."   
"Oh, come now. You only just got better and now you're threatening us. Shall we tell the doctors?" jeered Locklear.   
"What? You honestly think he'll listen to you? Anyone in their right mind wouldn't!"   
"What happens if you’re in your left mind then?" pondered a suddenly thoughtful Locklear.   
"Then we'd all be as mad as you," a voice sounds from the back of the room. All of us turn in surprise. Leaning against the door frame stood Krawl, a wry smile touching his lips.   
"And he's emerged from the Sergeant's Safe haven!" announced Locklear, gesturing towards Krawl with great enthusiasm and extravagance. In response, Krawl simply rolled his eyes.   
"The what?" I asked.   
"The Sergeant's Safe haven," repeated Mackie. "It's where he goes to get away from us and our loony bin."   
"The only loony ones here are you and Locklear," commented Valdez smugly.   
"That's easy for you to say slippery tongue, but how are you gonna talk your way outta hell?" asked Locklear as he fingered his pistol. Suddenly his whole body shook and after a moment he fell against Torres who pushed him away in disgust, causing him to crumple on the floor at Kozlov's feet. Kozlov stood behind him holding up on hand and in the other ways a smaller pen-looking object.   
"I just wanted to know what it did," he admitted a bit frightfully as we all stared at him. There was an uncertain pause of silence before the entire room rocked with laughter. We clapped Kozlov on the shoulder, hugged him, and treated him like a proper hero that night. Locklear, we simply left on the floor.

Later on that night, we drank shots in honor of everything under the sun and moon and to our fallen squad mates as well. I have no clue how we got the whiskey or the shot glasses for that matter, but we did. In the end we agreed to wake Locklear up, but I’m fairly certain some of my squad mates fully intended on getting him drunk to see what he would do. Either way after hearing the story he did in fact get himself drunk and simply keeled over; falling off the bed once again. This time we had the decency to pick him up and put him to bed though. Before he did so, we did manage to get one meaningful toast in.   
"To each other," Torres had suddenly said. "Let this be the formation of a brotherhood that is stronger than any other. Let us protect each other with our lives and pledge true loyalty to each and every man here. To my brothers."   
And so our brotherhood was formed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go, guys! Raise a glass of water, tea, soda, or whatever you are drinking to the Brotherhood.


	7. Into the Mississippi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having been baptized by fire, it's time for Delta Squad to take on a true mission. Have they learned from their previous mistakes? Are they ready for this mission? Will they all make it out alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys! It's been a bit busy with school and all. Things have calmed down a little now, so keep your eyes peeled for new chapters!

The next few weeks flew by and suddenly my squadron and I were as close as actual brothers. Despite being slightly withdrawn from us since the accident, Davenforth was still like a brother to us. He was the brother that we all looked up to and respected, but were still friendly with.   
Our popularity remained among our peers at the compound; however, our stardom faded. Soon we were just another Delta squadron who had survived against the odds. To my relief, eventually the concern for me wore off and I was no longer being escorted every where and I was no longer being constantly watched to make sure I didn't do anything stupid. 

Our next mission was given to us about two months after returning to the compound. We would be going on our first 'actual mission' as the Alpha's liked to call it, but to us, it was our second mission. We had already lost four squad members to what was supposed to be an easy mission and a routine border check.   
This time we would be infiltrating enemy lines and scouting out where their borders really were. Rumor had it that the government was pushing for us to find a way to spread out and find more farmland. I have to admit, it was getting a little crowded in the cities when I was still there. It's been about 6 months though since I've been in the city. A lot can change in 6 months. Either way, our job was to see if we could take over some of the country of the Mississippian Canal's land. For your reference, the Mississippian Canal is what you know of as the Great Plains along the Mississippi. For our mission, we would be investigating the possibility of taking over the area of Mississippian Canal that touches Lake Heron. After all Mississippian Canal reaches from Heron to the Golf of Mexico. 

It was late in the evening when our mission began, just after sundown. We all piled into a jeep that we were to take to the border. The jeeps held four each, but we squeezed five into one of them. In the jeep in front was Davenforth, Jolon, Demain, and Aditya. I was crammed into the back jeep with Farris, Hoku, Rafael, and Alejandro.   
Our drive took about 12 hours to get to the border and we were going at a pretty quick pace. The closer we got though, the slower Davenforth seemed to drive. Even from the back seat of the second jeep, I could tell he was anxious. We were all getting anxious as well. Mackie had even stopped talking for the first time since the incident, as we now referred to it. Without realizing it, we passed over the border. We continued on a little farther until Davenforth became so slow with the lead jeep that we were practically inching our way along. Eventually we got tired of this and Alejandro pull our jeep alongside Davenforth's.   
"Not to be rude," he said in a hushed voice. "but we would make better progress if we just walked, plus we'd be less visible."  
"I agree, but the jeep has supplies that we may need if in an emergency," replied Davenforth, equally as quiet.   
"We could just carry the extra supplies," Farris pipes up, a little too loud. We all glared at him and he squeaked, "Sorry," but once again, he was too loud. Rather than say anything else, he just put a hand over his mouth and sank into his seat.   
"Farris has a point," Hoku suggests. "Our bags are big enough to carry a few more items and it's not as if we're not strong enough. At the snail's pace we're going in the jeeps, we're definitely going to be picked off."   
"I thought your motto was 'less is more' Hoku," taunts Jolon. Rather than answer him Hoku simply gave him the death stare. After a moment to expectant silence, Davenforth spoke again.   
"I agree with Hoku. Everyone fill your bags with as much of the supplies in the back of the jeeps as you can. Then head for the cover by the trees over there and wait for the rest of the squadron. Stay low and stay quiet."   
Slowly everyone filed one by one out of the jeeps and opened the bags that we had stuffed under our seats in the jeep. Carefully we dumped the supplies into our bags, filling every pocked as full as possible before zipping our bag back up and sprinting for cover underneath the trees.   
When we had regrouped. Hoku took a few minutes to scout out ahead of us and figure out the best way to blend with our surroundings. It was he that took the lead for the rest of the night as we dove deeper into Mississippi territory. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for more coming soon!


End file.
